


Stranger Than Kindness

by echoist



Series: Show Me Where Trouble Goes [5]
Category: The Following
Genre: Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Marking, Rough Sex, Sketchy Motel Rooms, Tourism for Psychopaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Your sleeping hands journey; they loiter.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You hold me so carelessly close; tell me I'm dirty.</i>
  <br/>
  <span class="small">- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Stranger Than Kindness</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Than Kindness

After leaving Tampa, they travel north, taking Interstate 75 to Live Oak and cruise through the panhandle to Tallahassee. They stop in Ferry Pass for supplies before reaching Mobile, buying a small stock of groceries and a larger cooler. Paul doesn't want to risk driving through Louisiana or Texas, and he returns to the Buick with a giant folding map of the States. It's laminated, and Jacob figures they can shove it in the back without Grace ripping it to shreds. They plot a careful route through Arkansas, up through Hattiesburg and Jackson before making a stop over in Little Rock. They switch out drivers, each taking a turn behind the wheel while the other sleeps, or in Jacob's case, talks. Radio stations are limited, but they can both agree on classic rock which seems to reliably play in any state.

It's a long drive, just the first leg of an even longer trek, but the car seems to be holding up her end just fine. They make it to Pine Bluff, Arkansas before Paul's reserves wear out, and he declares a temporary truce with the highway. He finds a motel on the edge of town and falls wearily into bed, refusing to set an alarm. 'If we need to pay for two nights,' Paul mutters, halfway out of his jeans, 'I don't give a shit. I'm sleeping until I wake up.' Jacob couldn't agree more.

Grace has the poor manners to wake him up sometime before dawn, whining at the door, and he reluctantly disentangles himself from Paul's embrace. He finds her leash and stumbles outside behind her, turning the key in the lock. It's one of those walks where Grace wants to stop and sniff everything, and Jacob shuffles along wearily beside her. A twig snaps in the woods just behind the building, and he's instantly awake, Grace on point, her nose twitching in the direction of the noise. The trees shake in the absence of wind, and Jacob reaches for the Sig P23 that isn't at his back. They'd found it at a gun show somewhere along high way 95, refurbished but still in excellent condition, and Jacob couldn't refuse the deal. Grace growls, the sound low and menacing in her throat and paces steadily toward the brush. He tries to pull her back, but she's having none of it, intent on tracking the source of Jacob's alarm.

His mind races; was using the fake card in Tampa a mistake? Have Joe's people been tracking them all along? After all this effort, will he just end up bleeding out on the ground, without a chance to say goodbye? Grace snaps out a short bark, and a raccoon races from the foliage, tearing off across the lawn toward a set of half-open trash cans. She tugs on her leash, desperate to chase, but Jacob holds her back. He kneels down beside her in the grass, wrapping his arms around her neck and digging his fingers into her soft, warm mass of fur. 'It's ok, Gracie,' he whispers. 'It's all going to be ok.' She squirms away, finally content to do her business and head back inside for the night. It's cold, but Jacob's shivers have nothing to do with the weather as he slides out of his jacket and sweats, curling back up beside Paul in their bed.

'Everything all right?' Paul mumbles, his breath warm against Jacob's cheek. 'Yeah,' Jacob replies, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. 'Go back to sleep.'

 

Sunlight floods the room when he wakes again, and notices the checkout slip beneath their door. A quick glance at the clock tells him they've slept into the afternoon, and Jacob pulls on a fresh set of clothes and hauls himself down to the office. He pays in cash for another night, the teenaged clerk barely looking up from his tablet before taking the fee and jotting down a note in the log.

He peruses the stack of pamphlets advertising Pine Bluff's many historical attractions, but he's too tired to bother Paul with the thought of visiting a single one. He grabs a few extra packets of coffee from the complementary stand and returns to their room. Paul's already brewed and consumed half a pot by the time Jacob gets back, and he stares bleary eyed at the figure in the door. 'I always forget that Arkansas is the most singularly boring state in the union,' he muses, barely lifting his lips from the mug. 'Illinois,' Jacob argues, and Paul is forced to concede the point. South of Chicago, he complains, there's nothing but fields and straight, flat highway until you cross the state line into Tennessee. Even the charms of Memphis are entirely debatable, in Paul's opinion. 'Once you've seen Graceland,' he offers with a shrug, and Jacob thinks he might agree, if he'd ever been. 'Music?' he asks, pouring himself a cup of sludge that smells foul and tastes even worse.

'There's that,' Paul agrees. 'Some great jazz and blues, if you've got the time for it.' Jacob assumes that whatever business had taken Paul through Memphis in the past hadn't allowed much room for sightseeing. They finish their coffee and find a diner willing to serve breakfast any time of the day. The coffee is marginally better, Jacob thinks, particularly when paired with blueberry pancakes. Paul looks up from his plate of bacon, eggs and grits with an extra side of bacon, and shakes his head. Jacob throws a straw at him and Paul makes a disgusted face. 'What are you, five?' he asks, and Jacob can't help but laugh while Paul rolls his eyes.

'C'mon,' Jacob says with a cheeky grin, reaching for the check when they've finished. 'Our adventure awaits.'

 

They take 530 north out of town and end up driving straight through Little Rock before merging onto Interstate 40. Jacob's been driving for four hours, and if he thought Arkansas was boring, it's nothing compared to the dubious wonders of Oklahoma. They've passed a few lakes and state parks that would look more inviting in the summer, but otherwise it's been nothing but fallow farm land and endless expanses of asphalt. Nothing but pop country and conservative talk radio on the dial, either, and Jacob would honestly prefer the steady noise of the road beneath their tires. He leans back, adjusting his seat with a groan. 'We have got to steal a car with a better stereo system,' he says, looking over at Paul, who just laughs. 'I'll get right on that,' he says, resting his head against the glass.

Jacob takes an exit near Henryetta to stop for gas and let them all stretch their legs. Grace has been whining for about 15 minutes, and he can tell it's giving Paul a headache. He takes her for for a walk around the scrub grass while Paul fills the tank, and watches the sun set over the rusted water tower. He fills a bowl of water for Grace and wonders what could be taking Paul so long, when he saunters out of the combination gas station and diner with a girl in tow. She stands about a head shorter than Paul, in sturdy boots, leggings and a flower print dress. Her hair is dyed blonde, but cut short like Emma's, and she's lugging a worn out backpack over two mismatched sweaters.

'Jacob,' Paul calls out across the concrete, and he waves back. The girl smiles when she sees Grace, and walks up to them with a casual air of confidence. 'I'm Macie,' she introduces herself with a sweet southern drawl, reaching down to scratch Grace behind the ear. 'Macie Cutler.' Grace jumps up and licks at her hand, and the girl smiles. 'I've been stuck here all day looking for a ride west,' she explains. 'I can give you a little gas money, but that's about it. Your friend here didn't seem to think you'd mind all that much if I tagged along? I mean, just for a little while, wherever you're headed is fine by me.'

Jacob glances at Paul, who smirks back over Macie's head. 'Sure,' Jacob answers. 'It's a little crowded in the back, but Grace seems to like you.' He shrugs, opening the door to the backseat and letting the dog hop in first. He rearranges the cooler and shoves their overnight bag into the trunk, leaving plenty of space for their bird-boned new friend. 'Don't worry about paying for gas,' Jacob reassures her. 'It's cool.'

Paul gets behind the wheel, pushing the seat back, and Jacob takes shotgun. He hands over a soda and Jacob pops the cap off the bottle before from hanging his sunglasses off the visor.

'So where are you headed, Miss Macie Cutler?' Paul asks, pulling back out onto the highway. 'Well,' she starts in, and Jacob can tell she's repeated the story so often she's got it memorized. 'I'm from Pikeville, Kentucky, not that far from Big Stone Gap if you know that part of the world.' Paul gives a noncommittal nod, and Jacob shakes his head.

'That's mining country, if I'm not mistaken,' Paul answers, and Jacob raises an eyebrow. 'Yes, sir,' Macie answers. 'They had to cut straight through the mountain just the build the town. My family moved there from Hazard after my older sister was born, to try and get better jobs. It's bigger, you know, and there's lots of tourists always coming through. We used to sing at the festival every year.' The flood of words from her mouth stops abruptly, and she looks down at the floorboards.

'All right,' Jacob says to fill the silence. 'Goodbye Pikeville, what's next on the list?' She smiles shyly, and looks up through the windshield at the highway spreading out before them. 'I'm hoping to make it all the way out to Vegas. I really think I can be somebody there. My daddy kicked me out when I told him what I wanted to do, but I caught a lift out of town with the nicest bluegrass band you'll ever meet. They were great company, but they could only take me as far as Nashville. I tried waitressing for a bit, but you would not believe how expensive it is to try to live in a city like that by yourself.' She bites her lower lip bashfully. 'Well, I suppose you could, you never know about a person until you walk a mile in their shoes, right?'

Jacob presses his lips together to keep from barking out a laugh. He nods respectfully, trying to stop his shoulders shaking from laughter at her ridiculous turn of phrase. She seems to take it as a signal to continue, and launches right back in. 'I worked at a truck stop just outside of Murfreesboro, after that, but well, you know how those places can be.' She trails off, and Jacob turns the radio dial, not wanting her to finish that sentence. He can see Paul's smile curve wickedly by the dim glow of the dashboard, and he knows with a leaden certainty that he's hunted her kind before.

'I've been getting rides from truckers since then, mostly,' Macie continues. 'A lot of them are great guys, believe it or not, and I met some really interesting ladies, too. Then the last asshole tried to put his hand up my skirt, so, here I am.' She shrugs, her face still stuck on a hopeful smile, and Jacob almost feels sorry for her.

'Well, no worries on that score,' Jacob says over his shoulder, throwing his arm around Paul's neck. 'You're not really my type.' She giggles, and lets Grace crawl into her lap, stroking her ears. 'So,' she asks, after Tom Petty and Johnny Cash have faded into static on the radio, 'how far are you fellas going?'

'San Francisco, eventually,' Jacob answers, and Paul elbows him hard in the ribs. 'I mean,' he coughs, 'we're sort of taking the Great American Road Trip, so, we should be able to drop you somewhere closer to your goal.' Macie nods, a pleased look on her face. 'Getting your kicks on Route 66?' she asks with a sing-song laugh, and Paul looks like he wants to bash her face against the window. 'Anywhere is fine, really,' she continues, oblivious. 'So long as it's not as boring as Henryetta.'

'We're not planning on stopping for the night,' Paul adds. 'But you can sleep back there, if you're comfortable.' She nods, a bit awkwardly, but Grace nudges her hand and Macie goes back to stroking her fur. She digs around in her backpack and hands Jacob a cassette tape, the cover faded by the sun but still legible. It's Ricky Nelson, but Jacob figures anything is better than static at this point. He pops it in the dashboard and after a few moments of bone grinding noise, 'Travelin' Man' begins to play through the speakers.

'My mom liked him,' Jacob lies, and listens to Macie hum along from the backseat. She's asleep before side B clicks over, and Paul turns the volume down low.

 

Macie sleeps straight through the Oklahoma City bypass, and before long, they're nearing the Texas border. Paul's fingers clench the steering wheel harder with each passing road marker. 'You can cut north, if you want,' Jacob says quietly. 'It would only be a couple extra hours,' but Paul's face is set and determined. Jacob knows he hasn't been back to Texas since he left El Paso, driving nearly 2,000 miles to meet Joe Carroll. He also knows there's still a warrant out for his arrest in the state, but it's only 8:00 pm and an aging station wagon with Washington plates won't draw any undue attention.

It takes them just under three hours to pass through the state's northernmost ingression, and Jacob watches the lines of tension fall away from Paul's neck, replaced by a false, if friendly smile. Their passenger is awake in the back, embarrassed to have fallen asleep for so long, but happy to find Grace still snuggled up around her. There's a Spanish station on the radio, playing modern pop that Jacob can't understand, but it's beginning to grow on him. A growing restlessness has been working its way up from his stomach since passing Amarillo, and now it spreads like a controlled fire through his veins. He glances at the girl in the rear view mirror, blissfully unaware that she's made the worst decision of her short life, and decides he can't sit still any longer.

'Shit,' Jacob mumbles, pointedly glancing at the green sign announcing the distance to the next town. 'Can we pull over for a second?' Paul gives him a curious sideways glance. 'You seriously can't make it to the next town, man?' he asks, playing along. 'I really can't,' Jacob answers, squirming in his seat. 'Besides, nothing will be open there, anyway, it's practically a ghost town.'

He's never been to Tucumcari, New Mexico, but he's betting on Macie knowing even less about the area than he does. Paul heaves an exaggerated sigh and pulls over on the side of the road. A few cacti line the highway, but it's scrub grass and bush weed as far as Jacob can see in the dark. He pops open the passenger door, promising over his shoulder to be right back. Paul cuts the engine and settles back, as if he's used to this sort of thing. A few minutes go by, and Macie grows visibly restless.

'You think he's ok out there?' she asks. 'I mean, there's coyotes and stuff in this part of the desert, right?'

'Yeah,' Paul agrees, letting a sense of false concern color his tone. 'I'm going to go check on him.' He shuts off the electronics and removes the keys from the ignition before opening his door. He grabs a pair of gloves and a heavy mag light from the baseboard, making a point to walk in front of the car before heading off into the brush. He doubles back and yanks open the back door, hitting Macie squarely in the face with his elbow. She heaves backward and Grace bolts from her lap, cowering against the opposite side of the wagon. Paul raises the back end of the flashlight and smacks her across the face, twice, before dragging her from the car.

He shuts the door behind them, gloves and jacket in place, and glances down the highway. They haven't met any traffic, either coming or going for the last ten minutes, and he judges the moment most opportune. He sets out into the desert, carrying the girl's prone form in his arms so as not to leave a dragging trail. He finds Jacob beside a stone outcrop in the shadow of the mesa, waiting for him with a hungry look in his eyes.

Blood trails down the side of the girl's face, a bruise beginning to develop along her right cheekbone, and Jacob reaches out with the back of his hand to stroke her hair, her face. 'How do you want to do this?' Paul asks, and Jacob shakes his head. 'I don't know,' he answers, looking up, his lips parted and wet. Paul sets her down behind the slanted stones, looking around for something heavy. He finds a smooth stone, about five pounds in weight, and hands it to Jacob.

'Go ahead,' he says, proudly. 'This one's yours,' but Jacob shakes his head, suddenly overcome with a nervous fear he can't describe. He looks down at the girl from Eastern Kentucky, pink and purple sweaters lying open against the sand and all his bravado deserts him in a rush. 'I can't,' he confesses, ashamed. 'I'm sorry, I want to, but I just -'

'It's ok,' Paul says, taking Jacob's face in his hands. 'You don't have to.' Jacob inhales a shaky breath, and takes a step back. 'Dump the rock later, though,' Paul advises. 'Your prints are already on it.'

The girl begins to stir, one arm reaching out towards the weeds and Paul kneels beside her in the sand. He wraps his hands around her throat and slowly begins to squeeze, twisting his fingers until his thumbs dig deep into the skin on either side of her larynx. Jacob watches with a terrible fascination as Paul eases up, letting her struggle for breath before bearing down again and again. A golden chain with a tiny cross has worked its way up from below her collar, and he can see scattered cruciform impressions left behind against her skin. She makes a tiny, mewling sound before her eyes flutter shut, and Jacob imagines her lips would be a delicate, pale blue in the light. He think they might match her dress, and just for an instant, he wishes he could photograph to moment to keep it forever.

'Goodnight, Macie Cutler,' Paul says, drawing a blade smoothly across her throat below the chain. She bleeds out into the sand, the pool instantly absorbed and sucked down into the earth. He rubs a thin coat of dirt and dead leaves across her face, hoping to obscure any trace of Jacob's hands upon her skin. They leave her there, beneath the mountain, knowing that the local wildlife will find her weeks before anyone else. Paul grabs a handful of snake grass and wipes away their tracks as they follow their footsteps back to the car. He leaves a trail of piss beside the road and trusts in mother nature to erase all other fragments of their passing. This is coyote country, after all.

 

They end up driving past Tucumcari to Santa Rosa, putting an hour's worth of Route 66 between them and the dead girl. Grace calms down once Jacob's back in the car, leaning her head on the armrest to nudge at his side. He rests one hand on her head, stroking behind her ears, as the rush of blood through his veins begins to calm. Paul sits up straight in the seat, his fingers restless against the steering wheel. The knife rest securely in his pocket, a comforting weight, the gloves resting on the floorboards at his feet. He cuts the stereo back on, flips the tape over and grinds the wheels forward until he finds the song he wants.

'Sing for me,' he asks suddenly, glancing over at Jacob, slumped back against the headrest. Jacob opens his mouth to protest, then realises that Paul's found the only song on the album he knows. The opening notes of 'Lonesome Town' twang out from the speakers, and he hums along at first, soon finding the words. A quiet peace settles in as the song dies away, and Jacob drifts in and out of sleep until he feels the car come to a stop.

An L-shaped motel held together by stucco and rot advertises 'Vacancy' in vivid red neon, just outside his window. 'Where the hell are we?' he asks, climbing out of the car and stretching his arms over his head. 'The Rambling Rose,' Paul answers, grabbing the girl's backpack and tossing it over to Jacob. 'We're just outside Santa Rosa.' He stands beside the wagon for a moment, taking in several deep breaths before grabbing their own bag from the backseat. Jacob can see the effort it takes to put the mask back in place, to play at being human enough to pass. Jacob rummages in the back for Grace's leash and walks her around the building while Paul heads for the office, his pace across the asphalt swift but steady.

Paul's already opening the door to a room at the very end of the building when they return, Grace's tongue hanging out from her mouth. If she was nervous earlier, she shows no traces of it now, happily following Paul into the room. Jacob kicks off his shoes by a rickety table and turns on a lamp, unhooking her leash. Paul stalks over to a mirror at the far end of the room where one sink sits apart from the bathroom. He stares at his reflection for a long moment, shoulders squared, hands braced against the chipped formica counter top. Jacob gets Grace's food from the bag and watches him as he fills the plastic bowl, Grace nudging his hands out of the way to reach her dinner. Paul lowers his head for a moment before walking back, picking up small items and setting them back down in different places. A pamphlet next to the ancient TV, an ashtray, a pen, clicked in and out at least ten separate times before Paul inevitably discards it.

Jacob unties the shoelaces holding the girl's backpack together around a broken zipper, and smells her cheap, lilac-scented perfume. He shakes out a few changes of clothes, each varying wildly in style and function, before coming across a well-read bible, pages marked with ribbons and faded scraps of newspaper. Passages are underlined and highlighted, mainly in Matthew and Corinthians, though he notes some childish scrawl filling in the margins of Genesis. An old photograph falls out as he shuffles the pages, black and white aged to sepia, showing a young couple outside a tiny wooden house in the hills. He sits the book to one side, preferring not to dwell on the biblical origins of his name, despite having chosen to keep it.

A less worn copy of On The Road rests at the bottom of the bag along with a collection of Ginsberg's poems rendered nearly unreadable with coffee stains. A hand-sewn coin purse feels light in his hands, and he drops it back down, unwilling to take the girl's money, even now. His searching fingers find two more battered cassette tapes, Patsy Cline's Greatest Hits and Loretta Lynn's _All My Best_ , before landing on a plastic charm bracelet, littered with musical notes, hearts and flowers. A thick rubber band holds together a collection of postcards collected at roadside attractions; Jacob makes it through a giant ball of twine, an upward tilting shot of the world's largest bottle of ketchup, an interior view of Mammoth Caves, an enormous pumpkin as tall as the farmer standing proudly beside it, a vintage shot of Chimney Rock from across the bridge, and a vivid Merry Christmas card from Pigeon Forge before setting them down on the table, his hands shaking too roughly to hold them.

Jacob can feel a storm of energy radiating from Paul as he paces back and forth across the room, ignoring his inventory of the dead girl's belongings. He stands up from beside the table and crosses to him, placing one hand on Paul's chest. Jacob can feel his heart hammering, a slight flutter between each pulse and Paul smiles down at him, eyes gone hazy as he reaches out. Wrapping a hand around the back of Paul's neck, he brings their lips together and Jacob can taste the charge, like a flicker of lightening between them. Paul smells like blood and ozone and gasoline and Jacob doesn't think he will ever have enough of him. He slides his hands beneath Paul's t-shirt and slips it over his head, kissing his way down Paul's neck, his chest. He's slick with sweat, grains of sand still clinging to his skin. Jacob slowly works his way down, taking his time, running his hands across warm, humming skin. His knees hit the floor while his hands find Paul's belt and unbuckle it, slowly, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of Paul's jeans.

Paul arches back, reaching out one hand against the cheap plaster wall. Jacob works the button open, pulls the zipper down with his teeth and Paul's eyes widen, his head canting down, still smiling. He works Paul's jeans off his hips, having to tug a bit at the tight fit. Paul doesn't help, just winds his other hand through Jacob's hair and tugs on the shorter strands. He unlaces Paul's boots, pulling each one off before sliding down his pants and working his way back up. Paul's hard, probably has been on and off since they made their kill, and Jacob strokes the thin mesh of dark cotton to either side. He can feel Paul's foreskin pulling back, and knows that the brush of wet cotton against his sensitive head will drive him wild.  

He loves the way Paul looks in boxer briefs, tight, as though barely contained. He licks Paul's skin through the material, biting down and tugging against it with his teeth. He's breathing hard, his mouth hot against Paul's cock, rubbing and stroking against the tight frenulum through the wet material. His hands slide up the briefs from underneath, gripping Paul's ass in his hands and dragging short nails across the skin. He feels Paul take in a short, rushed breath and shrugs out of his flannel shirt, throwing it on the ragged carpet behind him. Paul grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him back up, fingers pressing roughly down into the muscle before moving back down to Jacob's waist. The top button on his khakis pops away, flying across the room and Paul tugs the zipper down, pulling off Jacob's pants and boxers with a ragged need. He bends down as Jacob steps out of the pile of fabric, kicking it to one side and takes Jacob's cock into his mouth. He's rough and Jacob braces his hands against Paul's shoulders, his head falling back. Paul takes his balls in one hand, stroking and tugging them down, and Jacob can't hold back the moan. Paul knows every inch of his body, knows exactly what he likes, and he still feels like a student, fumbling his way to a passing grade.

Jacob feels the callouses on Paul's fingers as he moves one hand farther back, teasing the cleft of his ass. His strokes on Jacob's cock are fast, his palm hot and dry as he grazes his teeth against the head. Jacob's already close, knows Paul can feel it, can see the flush rising in his cheeks when he glances up, lips still curled around his cock. He pulls back, running his hand down Jacob's erection once before rising to his feet with an unexpected swiftness. He pushes Jacob against the wall, Paul's hands at his throat while tiny barbs of stucco dig into his skin. Jacobs hands push back against his chest, knowing Paul likes the fight, likes to watch the fire in his eyes and feel the force of resistance before his eventual surrender. It's not as good if he can't savor the struggle.

Jacob's breath hitches in his chest, his fingers scraping across Paul's chest as his vision blurs. His head spins, and Paul's hands grip tighter, his thumbs stroking Jacob's throat with a fierce, steady pressure. His eyes roll back and the air leaves his lungs in one last strangled gasp. Paul pushes his hips against him, his briefs wet and warm against Jacob's cock and his fingers stop their frantic grasping. Jacob's hands fall away, numb and tingling, a sea of fireworks before his eyes as they roll back. Paul thrusts against him, and Jacob thinks he can feel the jagged ridges of plaster drawing tiny rivulets of blood from his skin. His nerves on fire, Paul's rhythm unforgiving, he loses himself in an orgasm that crests and rolls over him like a blinding wave.

Paul's grip eases and his fingers shake as they uncoil around Jacob's neck. He cradles Jacob's face in his palms and covers his lips with a hot, open mouthed kiss. Jacob takes in a short hesitant breath between the motion of Paul's lips and coughs, his lungs seared and seizing beneath his chest. 'Did I hurt you?' Paul whispers, pulling Jacob's head against his shoulder. 'Yes,' Jacob murmurs approvingly in a voice like leaves raked across broken glass. He licks the skin beneath Paul's ear and wraps his arms loosely about Paul's hips, boneless and drifting.

Paul pulls them toward the bed and sits down, falling back against the mattress with Jacob on top of him. Jacob's hands find his face, fingertips chilled from a lack of circulation, and Paul rubs against them. His skin is heated, flushed with blood running hot so near the surface and he lets Jacob kiss him gently, hooking his legs behind Jacob's knees. Jacob's tongue searches his mouth and Paul bites down on it, softly, sucking it in deep. He rolls Jacob over, reversing their positions and pulls off his briefs, rubbing his erection against Jacob's hips. Their bag still rests on the bed, near the pillows, and Paul holds Jacob down with one hand while his other searches for the bottle of lube. Jacob lies back, breathing shallow as he watches Paul's hands. He coats two fingers and slips between Jacob's legs on his knees, spreading them wide. He teases Jacob's entrance, the muscles clenching and contracting at the cold sensation. Paul works his way in with short, gentle thrusts, up and back, Jacob's hands twisting the bedspread into knots. His breaths come short and shuddering as Paul's knuckles graze the perfect spot, his fingers turning to catch it again. Soon Jacob is wide open, begging for him, his mouth forming unspoken words around the air.

Paul reaches for the condom lying next to the lube, but Jacob brushes his hand away. 'No,' he says, just above a whisper. 'I just want to feel _you_ ,' and Paul nods eagerly, pressing their foreheads together. Sweat drips from his brow down onto Jacob's face and he wipes it away with his left hand, his thumb stroking Jacob's cheek. Paul looks for permission in Jacob's eyes, blown as wide and deep as the night sky, and only gets lost. Jacob's hand on the back of his neck keeps them together when he pushes inside, Jacob arching up against him, those eyes finally falling shut. Paul tries to be gentle, tries to drag this out as long as he can, but it's impossible with Jacob's hips rocking up beneath him, the sensation violent and honest. Paul feels like he's suspended on a thousand wire cables, their bodies frantic and conductive. Jacob kisses him, biting down on his lip and it pushes Paul over the edge, spilling deep and wet inside.

Jacob's already half hard again, but he's exhausted and too sensitive to start anything else. He moves gently against Paul, covering his face in soft, quiet kisses and letting him take all the time he needs. 'You're amazing,' Paul whispers against his ear, kissing Jacob's cheek, his eyelids, his nose, and Jacob laughs playfully. 'The things you let me do to you,' Paul begins, but falters, the words sticking to his tongue.

'I love the things you do to me,' Jacob says, the laughter forgotten as he lifts Paul's face in his hands. Paul has to look away, unable to face the trust staring back from Jacob's eyes. Paul buries his head against Jacob's shoulder and slides out, letting his arms wrap warm and tight around him. They're sticky and wet and he feels like they should care, should do something about that, but neither of them moves for a long time.

 

At some point during the night, Paul rolls them over to the opposite side of the bed. It's considerate, Jacob thinks drowsily, as the entire other half of the mattress is a wet, crumpled wreck. He doesn't mind, either way; doesn't really mind anything, and he thinks reality is beginning to slip away from him. He's forgetting which name to use, forgetting where they're going next, and everything's happening so fast but it still feels like slow motion when he's in Paul's arms. He watches Paul sleep, sees his eyes slide back and forth beneath the lids and knows that he's dreaming. He reaches out a hand, lightly brushing the top of his head and stroking the side of his face. 'Jacob,' Paul whispers, and a small smile replaces the haunted expression he's far too used to seeing. It's enough for now, he thinks, just to be here. Just to have this, away from all the eyes of the world.

Grace manages to snuggle between them in the night, and the next time Jacob wakes up it's to a face full of fur. He sputters, trying to stroke her head and push her away at the same time. She's never crawled in bed with them before, and he has to wonder about the impression they made last night. Their sudden detour off the highway, the foreign smells on their skin, and the unrestrained aftermath. She'd been asleep in a pile of their clothing the last Jacob remembered, burying her snout in their socks and undershirts as if to keep them close.

Paul stirs, receiving a sudden kick to the abdomen for his trouble and he curses. 'Fuck, dog, why are you -?' he stops, unable to even finish his question in the sudden flurry of sniffing she unleashes against his face. 'Yeah, ok,' Paul admits. 'We need a shower, you've made your point.' Grace sits back, shuffling her hindquarters until she's perfectly wedged into the tiny space between them.

'I think you scared Grace last night, in the desert,' Jacob says quietly, scratching her back. 'Maybe – we could try keeping her out of it?' Paul makes a sort of mumbling sound, leaning against Jacob's hair, but he presses the issue. 'Seriously, I mean, what if she had started barking, or tried to protect the girl or something?'

Paul props himself up on one arm and stares at Grace, who looks down at them defiantly. Her ears perk up, and she tilts her head to one side, refusing to show submission. She plants one paw squarely on Jacob's stomach and he huffs out a pained sound. She licks Paul's chin before turning around in a circle and curling up at their feet, gently thumping her tail against the comforter.

'Well, I guess we know who's in charge,' Paul says, glancing down at Jacob in amusement. 'Still,' Jacob argues, and Paul gives in with a shrug. 'All right, whatever. If it will make you happy, we'll keep her out of it.' He sighs and lies back down on his back, Jacob's blanket-wrapped warmth pressing against his side. 'Thank you,' he says, smiling, and plants a kiss on Paul's shoulder. 'Don't thank me yet,' Paul warns. 'She's libel to have us both trained in a few more weeks.'

'We would make awful pet humans,' Jacob answers with a laugh, and Paul smiles wryly back. 'I think we've already proven that once,' he says, wincing. Jacob bites his lip, and sucks in a breath. 'You make a fair point.' The mood sours, and Jacob sits up, throwing off the covers.

'Oh shit,' Paul says, resting a hand on Jacob's shoulder and gazing down at him with obvious concern. 'What?' Jacob asks, confused, until Paul takes his hand and traces his fingers lightly in a circle around his neck. Jacob feels the skin swollen and hot beneath his fingertips, and he stands quickly, walking to the mirror.

'Shit,' he repeats, and Paul's instantly behind him, an unreadable expression on his face. 'I'm so sorry,' he says, looking at the ring of swollen red flesh and the dark bruises beginning to bloom beneath. 'I didn't – I never meant to do that,' he says, stepping away, one arm rubbing lightly at the other across his waist. 'Not to you.' Jacob turns to face him, begins to say something but Paul cuts him off. 'I'm going to go get you some ice before that gets any worse.'

Jacob grabs his wrist and pulls him back. 'It's all right, it's doesn't even hurt. I'll just wear a scarf or something.' Paul lips press into a thin line. 'For how long, Jacob?' he asks. 'That's going to take a while to go away.' Jacob shakes his head. 'I already said that it's fine. You could try listening to me for once.'

'Jacob -' Paul starts in, but this time it's him who's interrupted. Jacob steps in close, puts on hand on Paul’s chest. 'Do you remember the first time you kissed me?' He asks. 'I mean _really_ kissed me, not for display, not just putting on some stupid show.'

'Of course I do,' Paul answers, mystified. 'You remember biting me?' Jacob asks, a sly edge to his smile. Paul runs his fingers through his hair and nods, his hand lingering uncomfortably at the base of his neck. 'I liked that,' Jacob continues. 'Your mouth left a bruise for days, and I felt it every time I took a step. When I sat down at my desk, when I was driving back home to you. Hell, even when it faded, I could still feel it there. Like it would always be there; like you _marked_ me.' Paul's eyes darken a shade, and he covers Jacob's hand with his own. 'That was the idea,' he says, his voice thick.

'That's why I don't mind,' Jacob explains, leaning in to kiss him, but Paul pulls away. 'I'm getting you some goddamned ice,' he throws back over his shoulder, grabbing the plastic bucket and a pair of sweats before heading for the door. It closes behind him with a hollow thunk and Jacob sighs, wondering what he'd said wrong. He's sitting on the edge of their bed when Paul returns, dumping a line of ice chips into a hand towel. He sits down gingerly beside Jacob and wraps the make-shift ice pack around his neck. 'Hold that there,' he demands. 'At least for a few minutes.' Jacob complies, staring down at the floor. 'Just – just do it for me, all right?' Paul asks, sounding like something in his chest cracked open in the night, steadily leaking oil. 'All right,' Jacob answers, and they sit together in silence for what feels like an eternity.

The ice gradually begins to melt, soaking the towel and dripping water down his chest. 'I believe you mentioned a shower?' Jacob says, unwrapping the towel and holding out one hand. Paul takes it, grabbing the towel and throwing it into the sink as he gently pulls Jacob to his feet behind him. 'I seem to remember something of that nature,' Paul confirms, and Grace yawns from beneath their pile of clothing on the floor before they vanish into the bathroom.

 

Jacob admits somewhat grudgingly later that the ice followed by a hot stream of water had seemed to help. It _does_ hurt, now, but he still doesn't regret the implications of its presence, or reason behind it in the first place. 'What do you think we should do with her backpack?' He questions, holding it up while Paul gets dressed. Paul shrugs, some of his usual swagger absent from the familiar motion. 'Find a junkyard and burn it?' he suggests grimly. Jacob nods, tucking the postcards and cassette tapes down into their duffel bag when Paul turns his back.

He wraps a striped scarf around his neck and takes Grace for a walk while Paul packs up and throws their bag back into the wagon. Jacob stops by the office with their keys, and the clerk casts a sidelong glance at the dog. Grace sits politely by Jacob's feet, and she decides not to say anything. 'We just need to check out,' Jacob says, and notices the usual stand of pamphlets by the desk. One in particular catches his attention, and he pulls it from the stand. 'Santa Rosa State Park,' he muses aloud, as the clerk holds out her hand for the room key.

'It's gorgeous up there,' she contributes, 'even this time of year. Won't be too crowded either, if you wanted to take the pup for a nice jog.' Grace gives a quiet yip, and Jacob scratches her head. 'I think that's just what we need,' he replies. 'Thanks again,' he says with a smile, and walks back out, pamphlet in hand. He opens the door for Grace to hop in the back seat, and settles into the passenger seat, holding out the glossy booklet to Paul.

'Seriously?' he asks, his sunglasses sliding down his nose as he glances over at Jacob. 'It's not even thirty minutes north,' Jacob answers, his tone cautiously suggestive. 'There's trails, and picnic sites, and we've still got enough for a couple of sandwiches in the cooler. We could – we could have a nice day, you know?' He looks up hopefully, and Grace thumps her tail against the backseat. 'It's really not fair when the two of you gang up on me,' Paul says reproachfully, pulling out of the parking lot and following the signs to State Route 91. Jacob pops in the Patsy Cline cassette from the dead girl's bag and settles back against the seat. 'I know,' he acknowledges with a smile, and Paul shakes his head, a small laugh slipping past his lips.

The park is gorgeous, even in January, and about a mile in they find a picnic shelter within sight of the lake shore. Jacob slings his camera around his neck and snaps a few photos of the dunes and the grass blowing in the wind while Paul wanders around aimlessly. He pours a bowl of water for Grace and unpacks the cooler at the wooden table, making two sandwiches before sitting down and gesturing grandly for Paul to join him. 'Well,' Paul says. 'It's not exactly fine dining, but it will have to do.' Jacob kicks his foot under the table and they laugh together, enjoying the breeze off the lake. Grace finds a spot in the sun and proceeds to lounge about as if the park were her own backyard. They finish their lunch and pack up, heading down to the beach and kicking off their shoes and socks.

'I wonder if she'd come back, if we let her off her leash for a while?' Jacob asks, studying Grace curiously. 'Are you kidding me?' Paul asks sarcastically. 'I thought you two were joined at the hip.' Jacob kneels down in the sand and looks her straight in the eye, one hand on her lead. 'All right, Gracie,' he says, as serious as can be, and Paul struggles to hide his laughter. 'I'm going to let you off this thing, and you're going to stay with us, ok?' She barks, shaking her entire head from side to side, ears flopping upside down. Jacob lets out a slow breath, and unclasps the leash from her collar. She paces happily around him in a circle before slowly walking down toward the waterline.

She splashes and plays at catching tiny fish while Jacob rolls up the cuffs of his jeans and winds his fingers through Paul's. 'Let's take a walk,' he says, and they wander along the shoreline until their feet and hands are freezing. Grace trails along behind them, occasionally barking and pouncing at unseen things in the brush. The afternoon begins to wear on, and just as they've decided to call it a day, Grace dashes off towards a pile of driftwood. She returns with a large stick in her mouth, dropping it at Paul's feet. 'Oh, for god's sake,' Paul sighs. 'Really?' She barks, waggling her rear end, tail flapping noisily against the sand. Paul sighs and bends down to pick up the stick, tossing it a short distance down the shore. She tears off after it as if chasing a rabbit, and Jacob grins when she comes running back, dropping the stick between them this time.

'I'm telling you,' Paul assures Jacob, though this time he's smiling. 'We are _not_ the ones training _her_.' Jacob can't help but agree, and he throws the stick back toward the direction of the parking lot, making their way slowly by catch and release. They reach the wagon, and Grace shakes herself thoroughly, leaving a cloud of sand and water in her wake. Jacob grabs a towel they stole from some motel he's already forgotten and wipes her down as best he can. She licks his face, planting her paws on his knees and he falls over flat on his back. 'All right,' Jacob declares. 'I think that's as good as she's going to get. It's not like the backseat was exactly pristine before.'

'Jacob, this car's older than you,' Paul jokes, and Jacob makes a face. 'It is not,' he mutters, banging his fist against the frame before climbing back to his feet.

 

'All right,' Paul says, pulling out the map and unfolding it against the hood. 'I figure it's about 12 hours to Barstow, and that's where we should start heading north. I'm still not sure this bucket of bolts is going to make it through the Mojave, so you want to stop in Flagstaff first? See what we can get?' Jacob knows what that last clause means without asking. He doesn't know the first thing about stealing cars that he hasn't learned from watching too many crime shows, but he also knows their cash won't hold out forever.

'You know,' he says, staring at the map and pretending this hasn't been stewing in his head for days. 'We could always cut north through Vegas, then up to Tahoe, and head over to San Francisco and Berkeley that way. Get our fake college swag and learn the area, like we talked about.' Paul closes his eyes and bows his head over the map, pursing his lips.

'Ok, it's a longer route, I know.' Jacob confesses. 'But cutting north sooner avoids the Mojave, and we'd get to drive through the Red Rock Mountains.' Jacob bounces slightly in his sneakers, wondering if he'd exhausted Paul's reserve of patience for one day. 'We'd be on smaller roads, less chance to get noticed, and the scenery would be great. I know I'd get some great photos out of it,' he adds, a note of hopefulness creeping into his voice.

'Is that what you've been doing this whole time?' Paul asks, misdirected anger spilling over into his tone. 'Making some giant goddamn scrap-book for our new fake lives?' Jacob jaw clenches. He folds up the map and walks back around to the passenger seat without a word. Paul arches his neck and runs his hands down his face, trying to suppress his frustration. He gets back into the wagon and sits with the door open, the keys jangling in his palm.

'I know our new identities are going to be fake, Paul,' Jacob says bitterly. 'I'm not stupid.'

'I never said you were,' Paul counters with a sigh.

'I just thought our lives up there were going to be real,' Jacob finishes, anger covering poorly for the hurt in his voice. 'I guess it's asking too fucking much to want some photos where we actually look happy.' He shoves his camera into Paul's hands and presses the display button, so he can scroll back through. Paul passes by the most recent snapshots, mainly pictures of Grace playing in the water, and one of Paul frozen in motion, tossing the stick with a genuine smile on his face. He goes further back, sees images of roadside scenery along 66, finds sunsets and sunrises and landscapes that he'd found dull at the time, reinterpreted in a new light.

'You're really good at this,' he says, surprised. Jacob gives him a grudging nod, and Paul scrolls further back through the memory card. Colorful buildings from Tampa and St. Pete fill the screen, the white sands brilliant along the shoreline and a perfect portrait of himself, leaning back against a brick wall with a cigarette in two fingers. 'You're not in many of these,' Paul says quietly.

'Well,' Jacob answers, grabbing the camera back. 'That's because I'm always behind the lens.' He thumbs through several more pictures on the card, hitting the buttons angrily. 'You want to know who you are, Paul?' Jacob asks quietly, dredging up a memory that he knows Paul would rather forget, but risking it anyway. Paul hasn't been himself since this morning, and Jacob thinks if ever there was a time to remind him, it's now. 'It's right _here_. You're not just the places you've run away from, or the things that you've done.' Paul blinks and watches as Jacob searches for something more specific, shaking the camera in frustration.

'This is you,' he says finally, finding a picture taken at that tacky drink stand in Cypress Point. 'This is who you are to _me_.' In the photo, Jacob looked down bashfully, a shy smile on his face, Paul's hand clasped easily about the back of his neck. One finger from his right hand rested beneath Jacob's chin to tip it back up. It was filtered in black and white, like many of Jacob's landscapes, and Paul stares down at the two of them in silence. He remembers that day, thought he could vaguely recall some woman in a giant flowered hat offering to take their picture. They'd smiled broad and cheesy for the flash, but she must have caught this one a few moments later, before handing the camera back. They looked perfect together, caught in a natural, unguarded moment.

'That was New Year's Eve,' Paul says, after nearly a full minute of silence. 'Yeah,' Jacob answers with a quirk of his lips. 'I think we were drunk by noon.' Paul strokes one finger down the view screen, something awful and panicked rising up in his chest. 'I killed someone that night,' he says, almost to himself, and Jacob takes the camera gently from his hands.

'I know,' he replies, shifting back to sit by the window. 'I was there,' Jacob continues, his tone neutral, as if teaching a history lesson. 'I checked the papers after we skipped town. You played it right; the police thought the whole thing was a gang scuffle and wrote it off as more drug-related violence. Some politician made a speech, but it was boring and I cut it off halfway through.' He shrugs and bites down on his thumbnail, looking out the window.

Paul looks at him, Jacob's face illuminated in profile by the late afternoon sun. Jacob Wells, the golden boy who threw it all away for a short life with a rag-tag cult of killers. The man he'd looked at without being able to touch for so very, very long. Jacob, whose secrets he'd kept, willingly, and who had always belonged to someone else until suddenly, impossibly, he was _his_.

Leaving everything he'd ever known behind, twice, knowing the danger that might be stalking them even now. Passing bravery off as nonchalance, while risking everything for a slim chance at survival on his own terms; planning a future that includes hanging pictures in a loft in some distant city he'd never even seen. Jacob, who trusts him, and terrifies him in equal turns.

'This is what you see when you look at me?' Paul asks, his hand brushing the camera in Jacob's lap. 'I see the same person I've always seen,' Jacob answers, turning back. 'And I thought we were in this together.' Paul looks up, eyes wide, his lips open to speak but no sound issuing forth. Jacob raises one eyebrow, his eyes searching Paul's face for something he just can't say.

'Fuck it,' Paul throws out, finally turning the keys in the ignition. 'Let's go be tourists in Vegas. We'll take a picture by that big dumb sign on the way in and you can stick it on the fridge.' Jacob's lips part, hesitant words forming behind them. 'Yes,' Paul answers, reading his face. 'I mean it. Line the fucking walls with photos when we get to Seattle. Take more. Cover the goddamn ceiling if you want.' He reaches out and takes Jacob's face in his hands, kissing him soundly, before shutting the driver's side door. Jacob sits back, his face uncertain, as if their history of blind trust and the desperate desire to believe in Paul might not be good enough anymore.

They drive out through the park and pick up 91 on the other side, heading south in a loop back to Route 66. Grace barks from the backseat, woken from a nap by the sudden motion of the car. 'I'm just – I'm going to drive until I get tired, and we'll see where that gets us, all right?' Paul offers, one hand reaching out across the seat. Jacob scans a full turn around the radio dial, childishly drawing out the uncomfortable moment before giving in and taking Paul's hand in his own.


End file.
